Descending Grace
by Americana Psychotica
Summary: In a rain of snow white feathers and crimson blood, the final song is sung.
1. Fall from Grace

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER.**

**Warnings: Unbeta'd, gore, swearing, references to sexuality.**

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><p>The crunch of someone hitting the ground during a Quidditch match was a specific sound – one that could not be replicated in any other scenario, no matter what. Harry had several theories as to why that was, but the moment Draco Malfoy fell from his broom in a bizarre Harry-esque move after catching the Snitch an inch ahead of the Hufflepuff Seeker, they all fled from his mind as his eyes locked onto the plummeting blonde, his fall forming a graceful arc horribly terminated by the contact with earth. As if the impact actually affected them and not the unconscious Slytherin, the entire crowed jerked back in surprise, snapped out of their awed stare. The following cacophony was deafening – you would have thought they'd lost a beloved icon.<p>

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><p>Harry sat next to the hospital bed, eyeing the bustling witch uncomfortably. He wasn't entirely sure why he was here – the mediwitch had cited his 'unusual connection to the earth that only made itself abundantly clear when he was impacting with it, generally during a Quidditch match, barbaric game that it was...', or something to that effect. That didn't really clear things up.<p>

"Well," she began crisply, pivoting to face him, expression sour. He fought the urge to flinch away from her; there had been a time where only Snape could inspire that kind of dread in him, but he now played second fiddle to the one and only Madame Poppy Pomfrey. He fixed a winning smile on his face, hoping she couldn't see the faint panic in his eyes, akin to that of a rodent cornered by a snake.

"I hope you understand why you're here, Mr. Potter." She levelled an icy glare on him. He felt his smile wither and slowly shook his head.

"Um...no, Madame Pomfrey-"

"Of course not!" she snapped, flinging up her hands, oblivious to his instant twitch away from her.

"Mr. Potter, I hope you were honest with me when you insisted on learning the Healing arts from me – you are now necessary to your school mate's survival." He stared at her, trying to locate the second head that was so addling her thinking. Melodrama aside, since when was a fall in the middle of Quidditch ever life threatening? He couldn't have done more than break a few bones! He let his eyes fall to the unconscious blonde, gaze flicking over him in search of the fatal wound.

"Mr. Potter!" He jumped and winced.

"Ah, yes, Madame Promfrey-"

"Were you serious?" He nodded slowly, skin prickling. The mediwitch exhaled loudly, pinched expression going slack. She suddenly looked every one of her many years.

"Good...good," she repeated quietly, wringing her hands some.

"This is a very delicate situation Mr. Potter – one that dabbles in the politics of wizarding kind and magical creatures alike." She seemed to stare into space, before shaking herself.

"We begin your lessons today – beginning with the most basic spells. You are going to start mending the superficial abrasions of his skin, understood? Do as I do." He gulped and rose, pulling his wand. She beckoned, and they began. The prickling under his skin never ceased.

The Headmaster found them there several hours later, having rapidly moved from superficial wounds to broken bones, including a crash course in potion mixing.

"Ah, Poppy – I wondered if you had perhaps absconded with Mr. Potter." Behind him, Severus rolled his eyes, scowling furiously at the exhausted Gryffindor. Albus sat and offered the teen a sunny smile, receiving the weakest mockery of a smile he'd ever seen in return.

"How is Mr. Malfoy, Poppy?" The mediwitch bustled around the bed, casting several scans on the unconscious Slytherin.

"With Mr. Potter's help, the majority of his bones have mended – the breaks were all clean, and easily fixed. His superficial wounds have also been healed completely. However, something...of concern has come to my attention." She scowled.

"Forgive me, but I have already contacted his mother – she will be here directly. This could not wait." The ancient wizard raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"What could be cause for such concern?" The woman flipped the sheet covering the teen back and held up his arm.

* * *

><p>Across his skin were several tiny lesions, each one tented slightly. Erupting from each minuscule wound were dark spines, each barely a millimetre in size, bristling like tiny, spined hairs. She produced a pair of tweezers and gently pried one free; both professors blanched as a blood-soaked feather slid free. The Headmaster rose and moved closer, staring at the feather intently. The three adults huddled together, the Gryffindor forgotten.<p>

"Impossible," murmured Albus, gently taking the bloody feather from the mediwitch. Poppy shook her head.

"I'm afraid not; he must have had the disease from birth, but it was a dormant form of some sort – the fall would have triggered it, leading his body to believe he was in an advanced stage of ascension." Severus swore vividly.

"His father-"

"We cannot reach him," the Headmaster stated firmly, jaw tight.

"I have no doubt his mother will retain guardianship of him – the boy is her only solace, having been all but banished from the Black family." Poppy frowned.

"That is all well and good, but the boy needs treatment! You know full well this is not a wizarding disease-"

"The Fae will not help us." The Potions Master scowled harder.

"Albus, there must be _someone_-"

"No. No, after the debacle with the unicorns...no, there is no one." Harry stared at the arguing adults, eyes flicking between them and the seemingly stirring Slytherin beside him. Fingers flexed convulsively, clutching at the bedding as the blonde shifted his weight, his breathing becoming laboured.

"Ah – professors, Malfoy-" Severus turned first, eyes locking onto the torn bedding and the steadily awakening Slytherin.

"Albus." The other two adults halted their argument and moved closer, Poppy quickly casting several stabilizing spells and another scan.

"Mr. Malfoy – I am pleased you could join us in so timely a fashion!" Sometimes Harry wondered if smelling the fumes of so many potent healing mixtures affected her mind – similarly to how he wondered if too much candy could rot important brain cells, in the case of one Albus Dumbledore. The Malfoy heir's eyes fluttered, then opened entirely, focusing on Pomfrey with startling single minded intensity. She sucked in her breath sharply, leaning away. The teen slowly turned his head toward Harry, giving the Gryffindor insight into the mediwitch's alarmed reaction.

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><p>Malfoy's eyes had turned black, ringed with an orange-red. He continued to stare, throat working. Finally, he opened his mouth speak – and no sound came out. A puzzled expression, tinged faintly with panic, flitted across his face, and as if summoned by his student's confusion, Snape moved to stand beside Harry. Recognition followed by relief coloured the Slytherin's expression, and he settled, looking up at Pomfrey expectantly. She seemed to shake herself, then nodded.<p>

"Your vocal cords have been severely damaged by a latent magical disease that activated with your fall. Your body misinterpreted your flying as an advanced stage of the disease – ascension. Your body is trying to re-stabilize. Your voice should return in time – until then, you should be able to use telepathy." She sighed.

"Have you ever heard of Swan Song Syndrome?" Dark eyes widened, and he became impossibly pale. She laid a gentle hand on his arm, projecting calm.

"No, it's not that, Mr. Malfoy – but a mutation of the Syndrome. It is not common in human wizards...but not impossible to contract from Fae." Harry shifted his weight absently from one foot to the other and instantly found himself skewered by the bizarre dark stare of his rival. He stilled, wanting nothing more than to back up or move out of the room, but unable to – his muscles had locked. Slowly, the blonde returned his attention to the mediwitch. She cleared her throat unconsciously, removing her hand.

"You have a mutated strain of the disease, only contractable by pureblooded witches and wizards." She pursed her lips.

"You will begin to experience...changes...in magical power and physicality. The original syndrome was a curse that mutated with time – the organic nature of the magics allowed it to proliferate in pureblooded lines and in magical creatures, leaving half-bloods, Muggleborn, and Muggles themselves unaffected." She paused, expression uncertain.

"It is not unlike lycanthropy, to be frank. You will have different reactions depending on the moon phases, heightened instinctual reactions, and some physical changes with full moons. Similarly to werewolves, you will no longer be categorised as human – you are a magical creature now, of the Faery family." The blonde's expression never wavered, but something in his eyes mus have told Pomfrey he'd heard enough.

"We will let you rest; your mother is en route as we speak – you may confer with her once she arrives." The blonde's eyes narrowed, then closed, his entire form tense. Pomfrey sighed and ushered everyone toward her office, pulling the curtains around the bed closed as she went.

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><p>Narcissa Malfoy would not be arriving for several hours, it seemed, leaving the mediwitch no choice but to detain Harry to keep an eye on the Malfoy heir. No one had explained yet why he was still here – certainly it was <em>not <em>simply because of his interest in Healing. He wasn't the only student in Hogwarts with such interests, after all. So he found himself sitting beside the blonde's bed, twisting the shiny, dark ring on his middle right finger absently while staring at his sleeping rival.

He had discovered, quite by accident, a rather interesting ability completely unrelated to the Dark Lord that summer – a new affinity for plant life. Unusual events were not uncommon to him by now, but even he wasn't expecting the most mundane of flora to suddenly respond to his presence – rather conspicuously, at that. Tending Petunia's garden had become an exercise in patience – the plants were eager to greet him, and cared not at all for his family's discomfort (to put it lightly) with anything even remotely magical. And then there was that!

That 'discomfort' had not lessened for Vernon or Dudley, but his aunt had become startlingly understanding, going so far as to allow him his wand during the day when Vernon and Dudley were out to practice some of the lesser charms he could. She didn't exactly welcome the odder events – the stove still didn't work quite the same as it had before Harry had accidentally blundered into it while attempting a more advanced levitation spell – but she didn't insult him or ban him from even attempting to finish his homework. The workload he was required to finish during the day lessened considerably, and what few chores remained were not exactly back breaking tasks.

Harry absently pulled the crumpled letter from his bag, smoothing it out and rereading it.

_'Harry,_

_I hope the school year has begun well for you. Vernon is begin harassed by Dudley's teachers to corral him, but he doesn't care as long as Dudley is happy – which he is. The boy does no work and never goes to class._

_I didn't write to bother you with your cousin's misadventures, of course – I merely want to be sure you are well. Are you wearing the ring everyday? It should keep the plants quiet, at least. _

_Please give my regards to your Headmaster and your friends. Try to relax – I know your situation is far from ideal, but fretting will only make it worse. Feel free to write me, should a thought or question come to you – and don't hesitate to reach out to those around you for assistance with your inheritance._

_Hoping for the best, _

_Petunia.'_

The short missive gave him no more information about this 'inheritance' than she had before – Petunia was singularly unhelpful, having no information on the matter. She had found the ring in an old box given to her by his mother, along with a note explaining its use, but beyond that...

The teen sighed and let his head loll on his neck, scowling at the ceiling. He was bored, Pomfrey refused to let him leave, and Malfoy wasn't waking up any time soon!

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><p>The odd shuffling sound to his left quickly disabused him of that thought. He swivelled to face his rival, not expecting him to be sitting up, running his fingers over the lesions covering his arms.<p>

"Um..."

:Eloquent and ever irritating – how typical, Potter.: He bit his lip to prevent himself from replying – unlike Malfoy, he couldn't insult the other teen without Pomfrey having an aneurysm over him abusing her victims – er, patients. He continued to stare down the Slytherin, scowling. The blonde rolled his – thankfully grey again – eyes and turned away, apparently searching for something.

"Oi, Malfoy – Pomfrey wants you to rest-"

:Where are my clothes?: The Gryffindor rolled his eyes.

"Snape hasn't brought any yet. Lie _down_, damn it-"

:What's that?: Harry stifled his immediate reaction – _'a personal missive that has absolutely no relevance to you and I would kindly thank you to remove your notice from it,' _feeling it a bit too...Slytherine.

"A letter, Malfoy – lucky I'm here, you're so _dense_." He barely contained a smirk of satisfaction, one that withered almost instantly when the blonde began to pick at the lesions.

"Hey, hey – stop it before I have to put a body bind on you!" He moved forward, pushing the blonde's hands away. Rivulets of blood trickled from the lesion he'd been picking at, the feather pulled halfway out. Harry scrambled to clamp something over it, mindful of Madame Pomfrey's warning before she'd left the room; '_The lesions are pockets of magic – don't attempt to heal them. We don't know yet what effect it could have on him.' _Muttering under his breath, Harry got Malfoy to hold the handily appeared square of gauze to the wound while he searched for an actual bandage.

"Do you have no common sense? We thought we didn't have to wrap your arms, assuming you wouldn't start picking at them! Damn it, Malfoy, I'm tired, I should be _sleeping_, but because of your incompetent arse I have to stay here _all fucking night _for you and – Malfoy, sit _down! _What are you doing-" He froze, backed against the enormous cabinets by his rival. The blonde stared at him, raising one hand slowly, the motion almost hesitant. Harry flinched back, squeezing his eyes shut as he braced himself for the blow – a blow that never came. He cracked his eyelids and stared blearily at the other teen.

The blonde's eyes had returned to their orange-ringed black state, but there was no malice in his gaze; he traced the air just above Harry's features, eyes half-lidded. The brunette leaned away from his hand, jaw working but no sound coming out. Finally the slim hand fell and the blonde stepped away, padding back to the bed and slipping under the covers, turning so his back was to the other teen. Harry continued to stare after him, nonplussed, until Pomfrey returned, the Lady Malfoy in tow.

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><p>AN: I'm back. Like I said I would be. Here's DG version II, inspired by PU and Black Swan (SEXY. MOVIE. And not because of the actual sex scene. It's just so GORGEOUS. XD). You have been warned - but for an extra warning, I'll tell you this; Draco isn't going to go back to normal because I can't write normal Draco. xD So. With that in mind - FORGIVE ME FOR SLAUGHTERING THE ORIGINAL STORY YOU PEOPLE WHO FAV'D APPARENTLY LOVED. -overzealous apology- ONWARDS (TO MAIL!)! (Kudos and miniature Weasley twins to anyone who gets the reference).


	2. Practical Diagnosis

"What happened?" Narcissa swept forward, seating herself beside her son's bedside, lips pursed. She ignored the stutters of the Gryffindor – what was he even doing here? – and focused on her son, touching his shoulder gently. The teen shifted and rolled over, looking up at her with faint surprise.

:Mother?: The pureblood witch swallowed hard, heart pounding. He'd lost his voice... Forcing a stiff smile onto her face, she covered his hand with her own, trying not to stare at the lesions covering his arms.

"How are you, Draco?" She scanned his face for some sign of...something; she wasn't even sure what she was looking for.

:I am fine, Mother – Madame Pomfrey and...Harry have been taking care of me.: She stirred in surprise at the mention of her son's rival and almost twisted to look at the boy who was trying to make himself as unassuming as possible in a corner, organising bandages and other supplies with single minded focus. She felt the stiffness leave her smile as she watched her son's eyes flutter a little and listened to him stifle a yawn.

"Rest – we can talk more in the morning." She patted his hand and rose, taking the briefest moment to idly fuss with his covers until she was certain he was asleep, before rounding on the frowning mediwitch.

"What is wrong with him? He has been perfectly healthy all year – what happened when he got here to cause this?" Her face went pale.

"Gods – it isn't fatal, is it? You said it is not the Syndrome-"

"And it isn't," Pomfrey assured her hurriedly, touching her arm hesitantly.

"It is a mutation of the disease – similar to lycanthropy and vampirism. He will experience physical changes...as well as emotional, instinctual ones, not unlike lycanthropes. This...is but one of two diseases afflicting your son. The mutation of the Swan Song Syndrome was a dormant disease, but something – the second disease – triggered it into an active state. The original mutation is something specific to your family, or that of your husband." She watched Narcissa's face carefully before hesitantly breaking the last of her news.

"The secondary disease – the trigger that further mutated the original one – could only have been contracted from a Fae...through intercourse." She contained an inner flinch when the other woman's face went hard.

"Excuse me?" Pomfrey held up her hands in apology, mouth twisting into a wry frown.

"It is possible – though the possibility is slim – that he could have contracted the disease through a kiss, but nevertheless possible." Narcissa's displeasure didn't wane, but the mediwitch saw no way to soothe her ruffled feathers.

"Madame, I apologise, but these are the facts." She smoothed her stark medical robes and nodded to the sleeping teen.

"As I said – he will experience physical and instinctual changes. He will become largely nocturnal, eventually, and his system will begin to reject meat. He may be able to eat some light breads and even the rare fish, but beyond that his diet will become entirely vegetarian, though given what I have seen of his transformation, he may be able to consume more fish than usual in those afflicted by the disease." She cleared her throat and continued, "As to the lesions on his arms – I have no doubt they will, if cared for properly in the early stages, become less prominent, allowing the feathers to grow out properly. If not tended, they will become inflamed and may lead to his arm requiring amputation." She noted Narcissa's horrified expression and gave her a small smile.

"He will be cared for and taught his body's new limitations, Mrs. Malfoy – do not fret." The smile faded as she gazed at the blonde, and sighed.

"I cannot foretell all of his changes – we can do little more than watch and wait. I do know the animal his mutation seems to be based on is cygnus olor – the mute swan." She bit her lip.

"His transformation will require us to begin carefully adjusting his lifestyle while he is in a mostly controllable environment." She looked over her shoulder at the other teen, then at Narcissa.

"I would like to ask your permission to allow Mr. Potter to assist your son and document his changes. I believe he will be best able to help your son cope, of all of us. Professor Snape will be keeping an eye on both of them, should you agree." Narcissa stared at her, then at her son.

"...I need to speak with the Headmaster," she answered finally, lips pressed into a thin line.

"Of course, Mrs. Malfoy. Mr. Potter, finish organising the cabinets and feel free to turn in for the night – be sure to take the pass I gave you." She received a mumbled affirmative and led the other woman out without another word.

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><p>Severus examined the text Poppy had given him while silently cataloguing the conversation in the next room for further investigation later.<p>

"My son contracted this disease _here_, Headmaster – I would have noticed before if he were sick!"

"Mrs. Malfoy, please; I highly doubt he could have gotten the disease here – besides, Madame Pomfrey assures me the disease would not have made itself visible to us for months now. The accident has simply accelerated its progress."

"I refuse to let him remain here. It is too dangerous!" Severus barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. How was it dangerous? The boy would be docile if he was not antagonised. Now he scowled. Then again, with Umbridge around, he could very well become dangerous...

"Madame Undersecretary, with all due respect, you have no say." The edge on the Headmaster's voice was unexpected, but rather satisfying to those listening to it – sans Umbridge. Her splutter was equally satisfying, but the Potions Master couldn't shake the feeling that no matter how ridiculous the woman seemed, she was still dangerous. He started when some cleared their throat behind him, and half twisted to face-

"Potter, what are you doing here?" The Gryffindor shifted his weight from one foot to the other, chewing his lip furiously.

"..."

"_Potter_-"

"You knew my mum, right?" He paused, jaw locking. Of all the inane questions-

"Yes, Potter, I knew your mother," he replied slowly, searching the nervous boy's face. Something prickled in the back of his mind – a warning, a question?

"I – um, this summer, my aunt gave me this," he stuck his hand out, lifting the light glamour on the ring. "She didn't know what it was for, only that it was supposed to help me with...my, um, new abilities." He chewed his lip harder before he yelped and swore, covering his mouth with his hand.

"Shite – I mean – ow, damn it!" Severus stared at him as he fumbled for a handkerchief, hissing under his breath as he dabbed at the cut.

"...You were saying?" The teen glowered at him over the handkerchief, still pressing it to his cut. His reply was muffled, but the general irritation still came through.

"What-" Harry pulled the handkerchief away from his mouth and snapped, "Do you know what's happening to me?" The Potions Master raised an eyebrow at the barely contained panic and blown pupils, the darting glances and trembling fingers, before really _looking _at him. The panic wasn't the only bizarre thing about the boy tonight; his eyes weren't quite as bright green, and his hair certainly wasn't black any more. In fact, it was more a dark red than anything... He finally put the book aside and focused completely on the shaking teen.

"Potter, explain," he said curtly, barely containing his customary sneer. The teen shivered and took a deep breath, one hand twisting the ring around his finger. He stammered and occasionally sniffled – during which times Severus wasn't entirely sure he could resist the urge to smack him for being impossibly pathetic – but finally finished his stilted narrative, chewing his lip furiously by the end.

"Potter, stop chewing your lip, you'll bite through it again," he finally murmured, unable to stop staring at the boy. The transformation he hinted at was not only inexplicable, but impossible – Lily Potter had been a Muggleborn witch, without any magical blood of any kind, creature or otherwise, in her. James Potter's family was one of old blood, but not entirely pure, so far as the oldest families – Black's being among them – were concerned. However, there was no record of creature blood in _their _line either.

"I...have heard of these symptoms before, in relation to a creature inheritance, but there is no way you could be experiencing them as such. Neither of your parents had magical creature blood, and these specific reactions do not occur until one has found their mate, anyway." He ignored the Gryffindor's strangled response, frowning.

"Bizarre...perhaps you've been cursed." Potter seemed to be having a fit of some sort in response to this proposition. The sounds of the meeting in the next room ending cut their interaction short, leaving Potter to scramble for the door while Severus rose to greet the returning group. Umbridge all but stomped out without a backwards glance, leaving him with the scowling Malfoy matriarch and the ever smiling Headmaster.

"Well?" Narcissa's scowl melted away, and she sighed.

"I believe I have convinced her that Draco is to be left alone, and the Headmaster has agreed that Mr. Potter would be the best to assist my son in his transformation, though like Madame Pomfrey, he refuses to enlighten me as to why." The Potions Master quirked an eyebrow at the Headmaster, who simply smiled more.

"Severus, Mr. Potter's...condition and my reasoning for pairing him with Mr. Malfoy are highly confidential, known only to myself, Madame Pomfrey, and the boy himself. If it appeals to him, he will tell you. Until then, the matter shall not be spoken on." Severus frowned but didn't press, mind wandering first to his godson's condition and then to Potter's, wondering if he had been too hasty, if it was indeed, somehow, possible that Potter was...

"Severus, a word. Lady Malfoy, please, feel free to remain for however long you wish. I understand that this is a trying time for you and your son." The blonde sighed and nodded, offering the smallest of smiles to the Potions Master as she left.

* * *

><p>Severus eyed his employer warily, noting the advanced stages of twinkling and worrying for his safety as a result.<p>

"Well, Albus?" The old man chuckled and beckoned.

"Sit, Severus. I would like to discuss a...sensitive topic. I require Remus's assistance with the matter of Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy's dual inheritances, and as such, I will need you to take him on as an assistant in your classes to give him a legitimate reason for being here." Could he see the murder in his eyes? He had a hard time imagining he could not – his feelings regarding Lupin were far from mysterious.

"Severus-"

"I understand," the Potions Master cut him off slowly, "why this would be – necessary, given the conditions of Mr. Malfoy, and I will take your word regarding Potter." He took a deep breath.

"However, I cannot in all honestly say I understand why he must be _my _assistant." The Headmaster shook his head.

"I ask this of you because I believe you are the best suited to handling the problems that may occur with both students – and because I believe you may be what Remus needs to come out of his recent, ah...depression." Dumbledore took in Severus's blank expression with a barely restrained smile.

"...I don't understand how snark and a bad temper are supposed to assist anyone, much less Remus Lupin, in coming out of depression," Severus stated dryly, eyes narrowing. Dumbledore finally allowed himself to smile, but didn't say anything else.

"...Crazy old man." The Headmaster chuckled and nodded.

"I won't debate that, Severus. I won't debate that at all." The Potions Master took at as a dismissal and made himself scarce – or tried to, before Potter decided to make yet another appearance. He stared at the wide-eyed teen, and carefully massaged his temples.

"Potter...you should be in bed-"

"I think I know what's wrong with me. You're right – I mean, about my family not having creature blood, so I snuck into the library-"

"_Potter-_"

"I think I was cursed – I mean, my mum, before I was born, so I'd be...like this." The teen seemed to squirm in place, staring at him unwaveringly.

"Potter. I am going to pretend you aren't here – and you will have the next fifteen minutes to get back to your House, and I will ignore this event. If you persist in breaking curfew, I will dock points and give you detention with Filch. If, for whatever harebrained reason, you _insist _you _must _speak to me regarding this matter, you may attempt to find time to do so tomorrow at a reasonable time of the day." Considering the matter closed, he strode away from the teen, feeling his mind stuttering as sleep insisted on invading his mind.

* * *

><p>He started. Pomfrey had gone to bed after setting alarms around him, reminding him to call with his mind if he needed anything. It was long past curfew – in fact, he imagined breakfast might begin in a few hours – so why was Potter here? The Gryffindor slunk into the room and to one of the enormous cabinets, searching quietly for something. Draco watched him for a moment, before finally reaching out with his mind, wondering if everyone felt different, or if he'd have to deal with the pine needles sensation whenever he 'spoke'.<p>

:What are you doing?: The brunette froze, but didn't panic. Instead, he carefully turned, as if trying to move so that as little of his back faced Draco at any time, cradling his arm to his chest, clutching a tin of burn salve haphazardly in one hand. Slowly, he inched away from the cabinet until he was next to the bed, carefully lowering himself onto the stool beside him.

"I burned myself...and I didn't think I could heal it on my own." Draco raised an eyebrow and carefully lifted himself into an upright position, holding out one hand. Potter blinked, then slowly offered the tin. Accepting it, the blonde unscrewed to top and carefully dipped his fingers into the cool, thin stuff, beckoning. The Gryffindor offered his arm, murmuring under his breath, "You can't sleep? The lesions aren't bothering you, are they?" The Slytherin shook his head.

:I awaken at odd times of late. I will be asleep when the sun comes up, undoubtedly. How, might I ask, did you burn your hand? Shouldn't _you _be sleeping?: He carefully applied the salve and wiped the excess on the edge of the mattress, letting Potter take the tin back and rescrew the top on, before slowly wrapping the burned hand.

"I, um – I'm not sure." The blonde massaged the bridge of his nose, one eyebrow arching all the higher.

:How are you not sure? You were there, were you not?: He paused.

:Then again, it is you – you might have had an out of body experience for all we mere mortals know.: He watched the Gryffindor's face fall and paused, feeling something prickle in the back of his mind.

Harry shrugged and shook his head, rubbing the bandaged hand absently.

"Eh. I mean, my burning it doesn't make sense. I wasn't anywhere near the fireplace." He shrugged again.

"Don't know what more to say." Draco frowned, sensing his rival was withdrawing.

:Well, I suppose you're excited – I won't be able to fly for the rest of the year, according to Pomfrey.: Harry scowled.

"Where's the fun in Quidditch then? Honestly Malfoy, without you I don't have even a glimmer of competition. I may as well sleep through the rest of the matches."

:A roundabout compliment? You're slipping, Potter.: He jumped at the Gryffindor's bark of laughter, struggling not to hiss at him to be quiet.

"That's right – it's not as if I've been spending my free time trying to help you recover, despite our history with one another, and it's not as if _you _didn't just assist me in bandaging a burn I can't even explain. I don't want to hear it, Malfoy," he snapped softly, mouth twisting into a half-scowl. The blonde just stared at him, eyes getting misty with sleep, and he sighed.

"Go to sleep – I'll be back after breakfast to check on you, and again around lunch and dinner to bring you your homework and Hermione's notes." Draco noticed he all but hovered, seeming to wait until his eyes were closed and his breathing seemed deep enough to confirm he was asleep before he darted for the door, disappearing without a sound. Struggling against the heavy blanket of sleep, he shifted into a sort of upright position, carefully peeling the sheets away from his arms, casting nervous glances at Pomfrey's closed door. His skin burned; the lesions were gaping wounds to his sharpened vision, and the thin spines more prominent with every passing moment. With a little whimper, he pulled one of them free, slowly, releasing a shuddering breath when it came mostly free, the blood-soaked feather plastered limply to his skin. Vision blurring, he slumped back into the bed, breathing hard as the burning began again, more and more of the feathers forcing their way to the surface as the sun crept oh so slowly over the horizon, letting the faintest streamer of light brush his eyes before he gave way, truly, to exhaustion and sleep overtook him at last.

* * *

><p>AN: Well hi there. Welcome back to that which is Descending Grace version 2, unbeta'd and scarcely planned out. XD This took a while - I had to set it aside before the ending would come to me. Any ideas as to what Harry is? -knows and of course isn't about to tell you until a good story point comes along- It's actually kind of obscure, if you aren't versed in European folklore - and that's all I'll tell you. XD

There isn't much more to say about this, really; I make references to it throughout the end of this, and Sev has an idea. I'm pretty excited about this, but I haven't the faintest idea as to where I'm going with this. So far as I know, it's just going to be our dear boys trying to learn their powers and overcome the threat of Voldemort without dying. Nothing too fancy. XD See ya in a few - who knows what'll happen next, right?


	3. Know Thyself

Sunrise came too early for Harry; he'd managed about two hours of sleep before he was awake again, unable to drift back to sleep even though his dormmates seemed to have no such problems. Dragging himself from his bed, he changed the clothes he'd fallen asleep in and trudged down the stairs, tripping over the last step and careening into the nearby couch. He grabbed the back and jerked away from the banked fire, swallowing hard. His hand throbbed, and he abruptly recalled the burn. Carefully, he unwound the bandage and threw it into the dark fireplace, inching toward the portrait hole and slipping into the hall.

He doubted anyone was up and about yet; breakfast didn't begin for about an hour, and even the professors were unlikely to be wandering the halls. Time enough for him to find Professor Snape and continue last night's conversation.

* * *

><p>The trip to his office – conveniently placed so far away from the Great Hall and out of the way even for a Potions enthusiast or errant Slytherin – was uneventful. Time enough for him to work himself into a panic, but to his pleasant surprise, he found himself rather calm when he finally did arrive at the door. He hesitated, chewing his lower lip and wincing when his teeth drew blood – again. Hissing some, he tugged a crumpled handkerchief from his pocket and rapped sharply against the wood, scowling some at it as he dabbed at the cut.<p>

He could hear the almost surprised silence from the other side of the door, and then the sounds of someone making their way to it and working the locks likely littering the other side open. The moment it did open, he gave the bleary-eyed Potions professor and cheeky wave, still holding the handkerchief to his mouth.

"Morning, Professor Snape. Do you have a moment? I wanted to discuss the topic I brought up last night."

"Harry?" He blinked and rose onto the tips of his toes to crane his neck past Snape and see a surprised Remus Lupin sitting amidst piles of Potions texts.

"Hi Remus!" he cried, waving excitedly. The Potions Master seemed to slowly be coming to his senses, if the growled, "I specifically said find me at a _reasonable _time of day, Potter – this is not. Reasonable." The Gryffindor dropped back and pouted.

"Professor, you won't have time during breakfast, I have classes for the majority of the day, and my breaks coincide with classes of yours. Similarly, during dinner you will be here, brewing, and will not be able to spare time from your potions, which many professors around the school require for projects and the like, and soon after that I have to spend time on homework and studying. This is pretty much the only time of the day I could come see you." Remus chuckled; Snape looked mildly disturbed by the explanation the teen rattled off so easily – probably because it pointed to an awareness of his surroundings the Potions Master would never have applied to the teen before.

"...Come in," he finally muttered, stepping aside with a grudging glare as the teen skipped forward to greet Remus. The werewolf looked as worn as ever, but maybe a little less cheerful. He lacked much of the innate optimism Harry remembered from third year.

"Are you alright?' he asked, carefully sliding a pile of books aside with the ease of practice come from navigating Hermione's hardcore research moments. With a yawn, the light he remembered reappeared in the werewolf's eyes, and Remus smiled.

"I am fine, Harry – the full moon just passed and I am somewhat worse for wear, but otherwise healthy." Harry craned his neck around to look at Snape when the man snorted, apparently searching for a book on a groaning shelf behind the barely visible desk.

"So – um, Professor-"

"You mentioned a theory about Lily having been cursed before your birth to result in your current physical distress." Seeming to have found what he'd been searching for, he turned and sat behind the desk, flipping the book open and levelling a glare on the fidgeting teen. Remus looked between the two of them with mounting concern, mixed with confusion.

"What? Harry, what is he talking about? You said in your last letter you've been fine!" Harry flinched.

"Um...well, lately I've been – not fine." He winced at the lame explanation and looked pleadingly at Snape. The professor snorted.

"Potter saw fit to inform me that he has been undergoing a transformation that, with anyone else, I would attribute to a creature inheritance, thought perhaps earlier than usually expected for most. However, you and I both know that neither Lily nor James had creature blood in their families, which leads me to believe he's been cursed. Through an apparently illegal incursion into the library, Potter gained some knowledge he has yet to impart upon me regarding why he believes he has, in fact, been cursed – or rather, Lily was, sometime before he was born, or possibly before conception." Remus frowned.

"That – Harry, why would you think-" The teen quickly cut him off, rattling off a list of known causes for his recent changes.

"Like Professor Snape said, it could have been a creature inheritance, but that isn't possible, so that means I either botched a potion – something Professor Snape would have noticed earlier – or a spell, which is unlikely given that Madame Pomfrey hasn't noticed anything out of the ordinary with me and I haven't been casting any spell that could cause something like this – or finally, it could be a curse, and since _I _haven't been cursed or hexed lately, all Voldemort madness aside, it had to be a curse on Mum, and this is just like a changeling curse." He exhaled loudly, finally allowing himself to take a breath while the two older wizards absorbed what he'd just said.

"...A changeling curse. Potter, you aren't exactly a troll or a goblin – and such curses are illegal among magical creatures now, anyway. Lily would have noticed," Snape began slowly, looking to Remus for confirmation. The werewolf nodded slowly, brow furrowed.

"Snape is right – but..." He seemed hesitant. Harry stared at him, struggling not to chew his lip.

"What, Remus? But what?" Remus eyed him with concern.

"There...could be an explanation for this. I hadn't thought of it since we were all still here at Hogwarts during our school years." Snape raised an eyebrow.

"You honestly think something that long ago would only manifest now?" The werewolf shrugged.

"This _is _Harry we're talking about – who knows what sort of effects an unprecedented failed Killing Curse might have on a previous curse." Snape seemed to cede to his point while Harry glared indignantly at the smiling werewolf.

"What, then, are you referring to, Lupin?"

"...Do you remember Jaqueline Fields?" Snape blinked and seemed to think, absently pushing the book on his desk forward and gesturing for Harry to take it.

"The half-fae, half Muggle witch in Hufflepuff? Good at transfiguration, Defense?" Remus nodded.

"She was infatuated with James-"

"Of course she was," came the cynical responses from Harry and Snape, who looked at the teen with something akin to surprise. Remus stared at them both reproachfully, continuing, "She was far from pleased about James and Lily marrying. She used to harass them constantly, always ranting about what she could do to them, with her fairy magic. We never took her seriously, but this sort of curse, if that _is _what it is, sounds exactly like something she might have done. It was probably supposed to be activated when Harry was a little older, but then..." he trailed off and shrugged.

"It's a theory, at least." Harry eyed him, and then looked at the book Snape had given him, scanning the page it had been open to.

"Um, Professor – what is this, exactly?"

"The physical changes you mentioned sounds similar to a forest spirit well-known in eastern Europe. I can't say that's exactly what you'll turn into, if you turn into anything at all, but you may as well arm yourself with knowledge...especially given that I will not have time to deal with both you and Draco." Harry blanched and quickly snapped the book closed, crossing the room to the door abruptly.

"Where-"

"Promised to check on Malfoy this morning! Thanks, see you in class!"

* * *

><p>Remus watched the teen all but scamper from the room at surprising speeds, before returning his attention to Severus. The Potions Master was again rifling through the piles of papers and books across the desk, so unlike his smaller office connected to the potion labs and his classroom nearer the entrance of the dungeons. That office was meticulously organised and looked nearly untouched. The only thing nearly orderly here was the bookshelves, and those were teeming with so many books as to ruin any chance at organisation.<p>

"So, do you believe that is why Albus is insisting upon Harry assisting Mr. Malfoy?" He asked, referring to the conversation just passed. Severus made a noise of agreement, pulling another heavy tome down and dropping it on his desk, beckoning to the werewolf. Remus joined him warily, looking at the book in question.

"_Afflictions of the Fey: Disease, Maladies, and General Concerns of Faery Health_?"

"We have agreed, Poppy and I, that Draco had Swan Song Syndrome from birth. Luckily for him, it was a dormant version, and probably would not have come to play for many years now. However, his flying and some unknown trigger, likely related to his secondary disease, activated it. He is mute, per usual, but his magic levels are fluctuating wildly. The magical stunting inherent with the Syndrome seem to have been in place, but whatever this second disease is, seems to be boosting his magical ability, increasing it by tenfold at least." He scowled.

"Poppy insists this is a sexually transmitted disease, Draco refuses to talk to us about it, and no one has any idea exactly what disease this is." The werewolf sighed, and pulled a lone stool to the other side of the desk, perching on it and carefully opening the book.

"His symptoms are – what?" He started when a thin sheaf of paper was thrust under his nose.

"Potter oh so helpfully took notes." Accepting the sheaf, he flipped through it and began to search the book's disease by symptom index.

"Perhaps we should isolate the more bizarre symptoms...?" he murmured, staring at the list and then the index. Severus sighed exasperatedly.

"Lupin, we're dealing with a mutation of a disease due to another disease. It's entirely possible this bred new symptoms – so no." The werewolf looked up from the book to glare at him for the scathing reprimand, but he'd already gone back to searching for yet _another _book.

"Have you considered having him talk to his friends?"

"...Define 'friends', Lupin." He stared at him.

"What do you mean – _friends_, Severus, someone he trusts and would likely be willing to share more delicate information with because they're his age!" The Head of Slytherin House glowered at him.

"It may have escaped your notice, Lupin, but Draco doesn't have friends. Few of the purebloods among Slytherin do; they are raised to stab one another in the back, and maintain an image of unity before the other Houses' scrutiny for the sake of survival, nothing else." He ignored the half horrified, half incredulous expression on the werewolf's face, continuing, "If you must know, he will tell Zabini, if he will tell anyone at all – and that is reliant on Zabini's moods. If he feels particularly loyal that day, he might even keep it a secret."

* * *

><p>Harry rounded the corner and strode into the Hospital Wing to find pandemonium. Madame Pomfrey was trying to fend of a mass of Slytherins and small group of Gryffindors Harry realised were probably looking for him, and trying to keep Malfoy in the hospital bed, with varying levels of success. Sighing, he carefully manoeuvred around them and took it upon himself to shove the blonde back into the bed.<p>

"Harry! Where-"

"I'll meet you guys for breakfast, okay?" Hermione seemed to sense his irritation, though likely directed toward the blonde Slytherin, not them, but nevertheless pulled Ron after her with a quick affirmative in Harry's direction. Pomfrey offered him a small, grateful smile, and finally ousted the Slytherins, agreeing to let them see Malfoy in pairs. For a moment, Harry thought they'd argue more, but after a moment of soft conversation, almost all of them left, leaving four behind.

:Potter, let me up.: He looked back to the Slytherin he was still partially bent over, using his scant body weight to keep the other teen in the bed.

"Oh – sorry, Malfoy." He stepped back and nodded to his arms.

"Okay?"

:I'm fine, Potter – I will be better when you let me talk to my friends.: The Gryffindor looked at Pomfrey, who apparently was included in the conversation. She nodded and turned to the Slytherins, beckoning. Harry stepped aside and waited for Pomfrey to join him, presumably to give him more instructions, while the three Slytherins talked.

* * *

><p>Pansy probably would have flung herself at Draco and made her usual fuss over him, but thankfully Blaise was there to curb such behaviours.<p>

"Well? Are you going to tell us what happened? Professor Snape only said you have a mutation of Swan Song Syndrome and that Potter was helping you recover." Draco raised an eyebrow and forced himself into a mostly upright position, waving off Blaise's attempt to help and ignoring Pansy's gasp as the state of his arms.

:Yes, Potter will be assisting me in the next few days. I have a mutation of the Syndrome that isn't fatal,: he allowed a small smile at their twin, barely audible sighs of relief, :and...: He stopped.

"And what?" The blonde looked over their shoulders; Pomfrey had retreated into her office, with nothing to keep her attention, and Potter was leaving, offering the three Slytherins an absent wave as he did. Draco blinked and returned the gesture, ignoring the strangled noise Pansy made and Blaise's raised eyebrow. The moment the doors closed again he returned his attention to his friends, struggling to maintain the mental link. Blaise's mind seemed to be darting here and there, and while Pansy's link wasn't so mercurial, it was shallow and weak.

:I...seem to have contracted another disease over the summer, one that forced the mutation of the Syndrome. Thus, my arms,: he lifted one, gazing at the lesions with a scowl. Now each one had a thin black spine arcing free of it, not yet free of his skin and still slightly damp with blood. Pansy sat down hard, barely landing on the stool conveniently placed beside the bed.

"Are those-" she stopped, took a deep breath, and continued, voice cracking with the end of the sentence, "feathers?" Draco nodded, tracing one lesion with careless fingers. Blaise stood behind Pansy, eyeing his arms with some fascination.

"What's the other disease?" The blonde remained silent in voice and mind, tracing the lesion again and again.

"Draco?" _I won't tell them._

:They don't know...: _I _can't _tell them._

"But you have an idea." _An idea...yes, an idea... _He nodded, eyes unfocusing. Blaise seemed to take the hint, pulling Pansy up and stepping back.

"You're tired. We'll see you tonight." Pansy eased away from Blaise and moved ahead of him, but Draco caught the Italian wizard's wrist, sending a sharp request for him to wait. Pansy paused as well, then shrugged and slipped from the wing, leaving Blaise to eye their friend quizzically.

"What?"

:Greece. When we-: Blaise held up a hand, dropping onto the stool.

"Draco, we were there for a mere month – barely that! What did you..." He stopped, and his eyes widened.

"Oh Draco...please tell me you didn't..." The blonde winced at his friend's almost horrified tones, staring furiously at the sheets, his verbal and mental silence answer enough.

"What were you _thinking_?" hissed the other teen, eyes darting toward the door to Pomfrey's office frantically.

"Your father will kill you. Your mother-"

:She can't know, Blaise. She _can't_.: He fell silent, meeting Draco's pleading gaze coldly.

"...Fine," he acquiesced, jaw tight. "I will keep your secret – but you have to tell Professor Snape, Draco." He noted his friend's blanch and shook his head.

"Don't try to slither your way out of this. I know you. Tell him, or I tell your parents." He stood, moving just out of Draco's reach, mouth tight.

"I'll come back with Pansy later." The blonde watched him go, heartbeat picking up painfully as he considered the chances. He had said he wouldn't tell...but how was he supposed to tell Severus, of all people? He almost preferred having to face his father's wrath than his godfather's disappointment...Swallowing, he leaned back against the pillows, vision growing dark. A heavy yawn rolled through his body, and he let himself fall back asleep, the buzz of his mind quieting under the wash of unconsciousness.

* * *

><p>Harry didn't bother dodging his friends' questions when he arrived at breakfast, because honestly, there wasn't much to tell.<p>

"How Malfoy, then? The Headmaster insisted he was fine, but Umbridge's been...well, weird." Hermione nodded at Ron's assessment, concern darkening her brown eyes. Harry sighed and began to shovel food onto his plate, saying quietly, "He has Swan Song Syndrome – a mutation, anyway, it isn't fatal. That's all I can tell you," he cut off the question he could practically hear brewing in Hermione's mind, smiling apologetically. She sighed and nodded, looking around once before asking quietly, "How are you? And what happened to your hand?" He huffed.

"I'm fine, 'Mione – I accidentally burned myself last night. It's not that bad – already healing up. It was late, I was tired ; I should have been paying more attention." He shrugged, trying to assure her without words of his sincerity. The witch eyed him, then nodded slowly, before returning to her own meal. He barely stifled a sigh of relief, beginning to eat carefully, working through most of the food on his plate when Ron suddenly said, "Professor Lupin's back, Harry! He's helping Snape out, for some reason. You'd think they'd put him back in Defense." He paused, brow furrowing.

"Then again, maybe not – Umbridge would have a fit. Surprised she hasn't thrown one about him already." Harry snorted and then laughed aloud, realising that his friend was right. It was a little odd that she hadn't objected to Remus's return to the staff, but given how the Headmaster had received her these last few days, he wouldn't be surprised if this wasn't more of a ploy to irritate her than an actual attempt at giving the werewolf a stable employment opportunity. Stretching, he looked around the Hall, eyes lighting briefly on the subdued Slytherins. Mind wandering, he wondered what exactly had happened to Malfoy. Madame Pomfrey had refused to explain how he'd come by the secondary disease that had mutated the Syndrome so thoroughly, and Malfoy certainly wasn't telling him. The two he'd seen earlier – Parkinson and Zabini, he noted absently – looked as distressed as they'd allow, clearly concerned about something, Zabini more than Parkinson. Filing that away for later examination, he bolted down the rest of his meal, intent on returning to the Hospital Wing as he'd promised. He waved goodbye to his friends as he went, one hand curling around his wrist as he stroked the thin scratch he'd hidden from Pomfrey earlier, ears buzzing some.

He was so, so tired...

* * *

><p>AN: -badum tiss!- XD I promise I'll get to the point...soonish. I just need to push Harry just a TINY bit farther, and then Draco...who is going to be having a hard time as is, given his penchant for becoming nocturnal in this fic. Eheh.

I had something to say - oh yeah. So, first of all, this is definitely going to be **slash **(have I written anything not slash yet? Seriously?). Beyond that, I can't think of anything else to say. XD R&R, if you would. Until next time, Roc out.


	4. Exhale

His spine ached; he'd been still too long, prone too long, he needed air-

His chest contracted, and he convulsed once, twisting off the bed and slamming hard to the ground, blood smearing the pristine floor and sheets he was tangled in.

Not pristine. Antiseptic. He felt his stomach roil and twisted, but refused to vomit, ignoring further the harsh sounds of the old witch's cry of alarm and the thundering of his own heart. The tips of his nails scraped across the stone, scrabbling for something to clutch onto while his body convulsed and contorted, his back arching in agony.

The feathers erupted from under his skin, spraying blood across every surface, limp and dark against his pale skin. Distantly he could hear more yelling and alarms, but was focused entirely on the sensation of his bones snapping, crumbling, and reforming, light and strong, but delicate. His long fingers seemed to bend completely back, cracking audibly, even over the rushing in his ears. Again and again, pain wracked his weakened body, until finally he collapsed, chest heaving, arms and shoulders covered in feathers, even his hands completely obscured. He curled into the fetal position, struggling to cry out when he rolled too far onto his back, onto the raised ridge of flesh on his shoulder blade. His throat went tight, and no sound came free, and so he screamed with his mind, vision going white.

"Get him back into the bed!" The sudden contact burned; he gasped and thrashed, biting at unwary hands and scratching at any skin he could find purchase on, throat burning with every aborted scream.

"Mr. Malfoy, you have to calm down!" Cold clutched him and pushed him down, icy bands pinning him to the bed. His eyes were clamped shut; pain whittled away at his defenses, and slowly he went slack, the bands loosening as he went limp, shivering.

"The cycle isn't righting itself fast enough, Headmaster – we need to work quickly. His magical reserves are being drained incredibly quickly, and his body is unable to sustain the mutations and the magical bursts he's suffering from."

* * *

><p>Now he sensed their minds; the Headmaster, a cheerful pillar of bright strength, shrouded with some pale mist. Madame Pomfrey, sturdy and earthy, lacking in subtlety but not in intelligence. Two unknown minds – one, feral and earthen beneath a veneer of humanity, bleeding together at some points, and nearly alien, if not somehow welcome. He probed a bit closer, and was startled to find a force – not the mind itself, but some other being. It snarled and growled, and he retreated, recognising an alpha predator when he sensed one. These strange insights...so alien to his desperately confused mind, but he clung to them, because they brought some small comfort.<p>

The final strange mind was brilliance and song; it spoke of flight and sunlight, and he realised that the trilling he heard aloud was also 'audible' to his mind.

"Draco? Can you hear me?" He struggled again to open his eyes and again failed; resigned to his temporary blindness, he nodded, reaching out with his mind to his godfather. The stoic man was concerned; this was obvious even to him.

"Mr. Malfoy, I need you to take a deep breath and focus. Your body is trying to accomplish too many things at once. You need to replenish your magical reserves through meditation. Fawkes and Severus will assist you. Albus, I will collect Mr. Potter." Draco curled his fingers into the sheet, swallowing hard at the barely contained edge of alarm in the mediwitch's voice.

"Poppy, wait; you have other patients who need your attention. I'll go get Harry." He twisted blindly to locate the other voice, mind sluggishly identifying it as the predator's voice.

_Lupin? _A light touch and a startled response; yes, Lupin. He withdrew and slumped into the bed, utterly exhausted.

"Draco – Draco, you have to stay awake. We can't guarantee we'll be able to wake you again if you don't." But he was so tired. The air was stale; every breath was a struggle, and he was too weak to do much more than that. Warmth bloomed above him; the silken song in his mind sounded above him, and he was abruptly suffused with energy. Shaking, he exhaled weakly and fought to remain conscious, clinging to the two mental forces nearest him. He felt the instinctive recoil from Severus, and the soothing strength of Fawkes, but still he could only barely hang on.

"Draco?" He stirred and shivered again, latching onto the mental link to his godfather.

"Draco. Think of something – anything – that makes you feel calm. Focus on it." The air was so heavy; he couldn't smell the wind, couldn't smell anything but the blood and the sweat. Fawkes crooned and sent a warm blast of air rolling over him; he inhaled deeply, ignoring the smoky undertone in favour of relishing in the movement of the air. The weird heaviness of his eyelids lifted, and he found himself able to crack them a little without pain. His vision was hazy, but if he stared and stared long enough, it sharpened abruptly – so much so that the pain seared through his skull again and he had to default back to the half-closed expression he'd been nursing for so long now.

The pain retreated to the back of his mind as the dizziness engulfed him – and he remembered the sharp, fresh scent of the air after a rain, and relaxed into unconscious meditation.

* * *

><p>Harry watched Pomfrey fuss with the seemingly sleeping Slytherin, muscles tight with unresolved tension.<p>

"He's okay?"

"He will be, Mr. Potter. Fawkes and Severus have anchored him properly, he can go as deep into meditation as is necessary to restore his personal reserves." The mediwitch sighed and turned to him, frowning.

"How are you, Harry?" Startled by the abrupt drop of formalities, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, mumbling something incoherent.

"Severus said you had discovered a theory for your transformation of late." He nodded, inching toward the bed. Fawkes was still perched above, a barely audible waterfall of notes trickling through the air. Pomfrey sat across from him, absently shifting the blankets now and again, eyes never leaving the brunette. Harry offered her a shaky smile. He imagined he looked worse for wear; dark bruises under each eye, the slightest tremor going through his hands now and then, thinner than he'd been mere days earlier. To say he'd been feeling ill was an understatement.

He could no longer eat red meat – the taste was strange now, and it awakened some bizarre, blood thirsty creature in him he was not ashamed to say terrified him. His diet was suddenly severely limited. Everything he ate gave him some flash of its life – be it animal or vegetable, he could feel the life of its original tree or bush, or could see, flickering behind his eyelids, a snippet of its life in the wild, even if it had never actually _been _wild. At first he'd forced himself to keep eating and ignore it, but the flashes grew stronger, and he found himself vomiting up what he little he managed to force down in the first place.

As if his new diet – or lack thereof – was not bad enough, he was plagued with intense claustrophobia. Normally he'd have solved this by an exhausting flight, but of late he couldn't get a few feet off the ground without being flooded with panic. He'd gone so far as to black out once, but thankfully Ron had been there to catch him. He'd brushed it off as exhaustion and promised to be more careful, but more and more the very thought of being in the air made him dizzy and clammy.

A group of third years escorting a few of their friends from a Potions mishap captured Pomfrey's attention, leaving Harry to the blonde. He saw nothing for him to do, but nothing coaxed him to leave either. With a soft huff, he hunched over to pull out his badly crumpled Charms essay and text, casting a sidelong glance at the unconscious Slytherin once more before hunkering down to work.

* * *

><p>Sometimes the other teen would shift and seem to murmur, then settle again. Once he reached out, let his hand flutter over Harry's paper, then dropped it, going still once again. It was eerie. If he hadn't known better, he would have believed the other some sort of puppet, lacking any true life and will of its own.<p>

Fawkes shifted across the top of the bed, resting on the corner to stare at Harry. The brunette gave the phoenix a lopsided grin.

"Hi, Fawkes." The phoenix trilled and made a stilted sidestep/glide from the bed to the Gryffindor's shoulder, chirping and nodding toward the Slytherin, who again seemed to be stirring. Pushing his essay aside, Harry leaned forward, hesitantly calling, "Malfoy?"

In an instant the blonde's eyes snapped open, black as the first time he'd awakened after his fall, the ring of orange-red seeming to pulsate around his pupil. Swallowing, Harry moved to lean back, only to feel long fingers close around his wrist and yank. His sharply aborted cry hurt his throat, but he couldn't bring himself to make noise under the intense stare he was receiving.

"H-hi, Malfoy-" Harry wasn't sure what made his eyes widen more – the affectionate brush of fingers against his cheek, or the weird, sincere smile on the other teen's face.

:Hi Potter.: Fawkes loosed a silken cry and took off, gliding from the Hospital Wing as Draco sat up and swung his legs over the bed's edge, leaning forward to gaze into Harry's eyes. The brunette wanted nothing more to skitter away, but something in the other's gaze held him there. The blonde stretched, carefully shifting a few of the feathers on his arms into a more linear position.

:What time is it?:

"Mr. Malfoy! You shouldn't be up so soon!" The blonde tilted his head quizzically at the mediwitch, then shrugged, sliding back into the bed obediently. Harry began to move out of Pomfrey's way, only to have Malfoy pull him back to his side, almost absently tracing the inside of his wrist.

:Stay.: Perturbed and unable to remove himself from the situation, he resigned himself to sitting at the blonde's bedside while the mediwitch cast a number of diagnostics on him, looking dually relieved and confused.

"Well, Mr. Malfoy, it would appear you have recovered much of your magical reserves, and your transformation is going as scheduled. These feathers," she nodded to his arms, "are temporary – a sort of training wing, if my observations are correct. They may be retracted and revealed at will, in time, but currently I believe they will come out during the day and retract at night, unless you see fit to use them." Tapping her wand against the bed frame, she frowned.

"How are you feeling?"

:Much better,: came the easy mental reply, coupled with another uncharacteristic smile. The woman hummed and looked at Harry, who shifted uneasily.

"Very well. Mr. Potter, come with me for a moment; we will be right back, Mr. Malfoy. Rest." She received an affirmative and beckoned, leading Harry toward one of the cabinets and summoning a silver basin.

"I want you to help him bathe the feathers; the blood will interfere with their natural course of retraction if left to dry. Clean up his arms and help him out of bed. When you're done, we will be going out to the Quidditch Field." Harry stared at her with bemusement, accepting the rags she pressed into his hands.

"The Quidditch Field, ma'am?" She nodded sharply, producing a thin vial of clear liquid, carefully unstoppering it and inhaling once. Nodding again, she returned the stopper to the vial and handed it to the Gryffindor, levitating the basin behind her as they returned to Draco.

"Yes, Mr. Potter. I will explain when we get there. Now," she placed the basin of water on the bedside table, "I want you to use three drops of that solution on this water. Go slowly – the feathers are delicate. After fifteen minutes, add another three drops, and so on. Don't worry about using all of it – it was specifically brewed for Mr. Malfoy, and I've no doubt we can utilize it again." Draco, sitting up, eyed the vial and asked, :What is it?:

"A sealing agent of sorts – meant to speed along the growth of your feathers. The agent will likely be used again when your true wings grow out, but until then, I think this will do." She demonstrated how she wanted Harry to assist Draco in bathing the feathers, before moving away, calling over her shoulder, "I will be back in a little while – I must gather some things for Mr. Malfoy, and then we will be on our way." Harry stared after her, than at the blonde, who raised an eyebrow expectantly, smile not wavering.

"What is wrong with you, Malfoy? You're never so...grinny," he finished lamely, scowling as the smile morphed into a smirk.

"_That's _normal. Now give me your arm."

* * *

><p>Draco settled back and watched the other teen carefully clean blood from his skin, and then begin working to clean the delicate feathers, gingerly gliding the rag over each one, clearing more and more blood away.<p>

:I can help, you know.:

"I'm sure you think you can," came the absent reply, the firm, but gentle strokes not faltering. Draco frowned and began to repeat the assertion, only to feel a slight burn.

:Potter, stop-: The brunette snatched the rag away and eyed him with a mixture of irritation and concern.

"What? What did I-" He stopped and gaped as the feather he'd been cleaning seemed to almost unfurl, causing Draco to wince.

"Um..." Harry swallowed, blinked, and swallowed again.

"Is that...good?" Draco raised the arm, eyeing the white feather.

:I think so. Let me help, we'll finish this faster if we both work on it.: The Gryffindor balked, then hesitantly handed him a damp rag.

"Work on your lower arm, I'll work on your shoulder and upper arm. Tell me if you feel the feathers coming out all the way." He nodded, beginning to echo Harry's earlier motions with the other feathers. They worked in silence, now and then pausing to let a feather free itself completely, the cleaned, stiffened feathers forming into a sleek 'sleeve' of sorts around the blonde's arm. They pause to look it over, Harry carefully shifting feathers back into line here and there, slightly awed by the silky forms. They cover his shoulder to his wrist, some smaller feathers drifting onto his neck and back. If the Slytherin held his hand just so, the fringe of the longer primaries gave the illusion of a true wing.

"Harry, Draco." Broken out of his daze, both teens seemed to shake themselves and turn their attention to the newly arrived werewolf with varying degrees of warmth. Remus examines the wing critically, smiling a little.

"You've both done a great job. Nothing hurts, Draco?" The blonde shook his head. Settling beside the bed, the werewolf eyed the wing more closely.

"Can you bend your arm, or would that dislodge feathers, do you think?" Harry blinks. He'd never considered the mechanics of it all – but Draco Malfoy now had what was essentially a wing. A _wing_, of all things. The blonde carefully bent his arm, little by little, until he reached a nearly ninety degree angle.

:Any further and I'd dislodge feathers,: he offered, meeting the werewolf's gold eyes. The man nodded and offered him a congratulatory smile.

It was dizzying. The Gryffindor had moved to finish his other wing without prompting, keeping up small talk with Lupin, all the while Draco's mind spun. He had wings – training wings, what in all hells were training wings, anyway? He wanted to panic. He wanted to scream. He wanted anything but to pretend everything was okay, and he wanted this shimmering voice to leave him _alone_, this weird creature within that seemed to be pushing him closer to Potter with every passing hour. He wanted his life to go back to normal.

_It's your own fault – you couldn't leave well enough alone, you had to defy your father, your social circle, the fucking world at large, and you just _had _to do it with a fucking fairy. _That wasn't fair – this wasn't fair – he couldn't help that he'd wanted so badly to pretend, just for a few days, that he could love the way he thought was right-

"Malfoy, we're done." He almost snatched his arm away from the Gryffindor, but refrained, partly because that damnable force wouldn't let him, partly because he was certain he'd lose a feather doing so. Losing feathers hurt, he'd discovered; he was quite literally, pulling something from the stem up, out of his skin, something that was essentially partially fused to his body. Resisting the urge to grimace, he wriggled out of the bed and stood, stretching again. He was slightly tired – but he felt as if this was his proper waking time.

* * *

><p>Walking onto the Quidditch Field told him that the sun was just setting – there was light enough to see by, but it was getting dark fast.<p>

"Remus – er, Professor – why are we out here?" Harry was a few feet ahead of them; Draco didn't remember him being this fast on his feet before. The werewolf shrugged.

"Poppy asked me to bring you two out here – you're supposed to go meet Hagrid, and Draco is, presumably, going to test his wings." Harry skidded and turned all at once.

"Is she mad! He can't fly with those – hell, I'm surprised she let him out at all! No offence, Malfoy," he added quickly, darting back toward them. Again the werewolf shrugged, and Harry huffed. Meanwhile, Draco tried to tamp down warring emotions of excitement and panic. His skin prickled, and the feathers seemed to perk up with a life of their own. The shimmering force within sang of the freedom of the skies, an overwhelming longing to escape – and then he felt it. All the fear fell away, and pure exhilaration engulfed him. It was a mere taste, a teasing invitation to try the skies, to taste the wind and learn its dance – to embrace the illusion of freedom.

Shivering, he focused on the trio standing at the edge of the field, talking quietly among themselves. To his surprise, Lupin gently squeezed his shoulder before leading Harry away, toward the Forest. They shared a lingering glance, questioning what as happening, and then the connection broke, and he was alone. Inhaling deeply, he moved to join the trio – Madame Pomfrey, Severus, and the Headmaster.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy. Are you ready, then?" He met the twinkling blue eyes and absently thought the name sky blue very much suited their colour. Severus looked wane with concern; he tried to offer a smile, but his body was suddenly tense with anticipation, and the expression was more akin to a grimace.

:Ready for what, exactly, Sir?: He felt the shimmering force scoff; they were at one and alone. No being could be above them, and this one alone was no different than the others. He pushed the defiant mind away.

"We have created an exercise of sorts for you – so you might, ahem, try your wings for the first time. It's perfectly safe," he assured him. Brilliant disdain again filled his mind; was he seeking to assure them, or himself? He simply nodded, and the Headmaster smiled, nodding to a set of wooden stairs.

"Follow those then, my boy, and see what you can do when you reach the top. We will await your descent here – and do not hesitate to call on us if you fear your ability to land safely." He wanted nothing more than to scoff, but again nodded and moved to do as told.

The stairs were temporary, rickety things, able to hold his weight easily only because he now weighed so little. The lack of denser bones had caused him to lose several pounds in a matter of days. The shimmering, singing force grew louder in his ears the higher he got; he was certain everyone could hear it, it was so impossibly loud. It crooned of the heights they would reach, the sights they would see, and he could not continue to resist. He let it sing – let it drown out his doubts and fears, pushing him further and faster, until he'd reached the thin wooden platform, so many metres above the ground. To a normal human, the trio below would have appeared as mere ants; he could see the worry in Severus's eyes, the slight bead of sweat on Madame Pomfrey's brow. He inched closer to the edge.

His hands tingled and burned; thin, small feathers pushed free of his skin, shedding the blood and forming a sort of glove. He stared out over the Field, and noticed something out of the corner of his eye; a small form, running with impossible speed into the Forest. The inner force's attention was pulled instantly from the glory of flight to the excitement of the chase; the predator unfurled its wings-

And he stepped from the platform.

* * *

><p>AN: Cliffhanger? No no no. SKYDIVER. XD Ahem. In all seriousness, Draco, why are you monopolizing the fic? GIVE IT BACK TO HARRY. XD

If my description of his 'training wings' was not clear enough, watch Black Swan (the trailer is probably sufficient). **(MINI SPOILERS FOR BLACK SWAN THAT AREN'T REALLY SPOILERS SINCE THEY WERE IN THE TRAILER)** There's a shot of Nina on stage from a three quarter/back view, with wings. Her arms are held back, and the wings are actually formed from her arms. 'Twas my biggest inspiration for this fic, actually, that image.

I apologize for taking so long with this - it was almost ready a couple of days ago, but I got distracted by the most inane game I've ever played - My Candy Love. Don't judge, I got tired of seeing all the ads and got sucked in. o.o ANYWAY! I think I got a little repetitive with my description, especially near the beginning. So! R&R, I'll get back to working on the next chappie. -scurries back to her corner, laptop in hand-


	5. Finding Exhilaration

Harry shifted from one foot to the other, almost hopping in his impatience. Hagrid had led him to a clearing in the forest with Remus and left them to their own devices. Remus hadn't told him what they were doing, and while the tension had left most of his body, he was nevertheless uneasy.

"Remus?" The werewolf, sitting a few feet away, looked up.

"Yes, Harry?"

"Why are we here?" Remus leaned back on his arms.

"Severus thinks you are correct about your curse theory – and believes you may be taking on the characteristics of a forest spirit. We talked about this." The Gryffindor scowled and flopped onto the ground, curling his fingers into the slightly damp, dark earth. The trees around them creaked and groaned; a rodent of some sort shot through the bushes, causing them to shiver and rustle. Nearby, he sensed a dark snake slithering from its den in the twisted roots of the nearby tree. With a breathy exhale, he flipped onto his stomach, inhaling the scent of the warm earth. He heard Remus move further into the trees; he didn't bother looking over his shoulder to see him, more focused on the relief he felt at being so close to the earth.

_~Brother by voice.~ _He smiled at the formal greeting and returned it, watching the snake arch up and gaze at him, tongue tasting the scented air around him.

_~Dark and cool, this young earth is. Old and weary, these trees are. You are something of the between, brother.~ _Harry blinked lazily and raked his fingers through the dirt.

_~So it would seem. I am no true creature of these woods.~_

_~You are enough so. The trees whisper to you – listen, brother.~ _He tilted his head back, shivering some when the snake slithered past him, the hair on his arms standing on edge at the brushing touch.

* * *

><p>The wind was low and warm; it smelled like rain was approaching. The trees swayed minutely, their branches clacking and creaking now and again. He rose onto his knees, nostrils flaring. The air was charged – a predator approached. His body tensed; he lifted onto the balls of his feet, crouched as he inhaled the scent again. Something darted just out of his range of vision, then again, barely crossing into his periphery. He dug his nails into the earth, shifting a little toward the edge of the clearing. A flutter of wings, a squawk and a low bark, and he relaxed. The low foliage shifted and parted to let the fox trot into the clearly, small bird clamped in its jaws. Harry smiled with some bemusement; he'd never had a wild animal, snakes aside, approach him with so little caution.<p>

Dropping the bird (too mangled for him to tell what species it was; Harry thought it might have been mutated before the fox got a hold of it), the small canid trotted forward and sat, barking once again at him. He held out a hand, eyeing it with some wariness. Instantly it darted forward and butted its head against his palm, chirping and twining around his wrist.

"Harry? We should head back now. You're feeling better now, right?" He twisted to nod at Remus, small smile widening. The fox plastered itself to his side, growling some at the werewolf. Remus raised an eyebrow and barked sharply at the small animal, causing Harry to jump and the fox to yelp and dart behind the teen.

"Ha ha ha. Leave it alone, Remus." The werewolf smirked, and Harry made a mental note to get him away from Snape as soon as possible – so much exposure was clearly warping his mind. The werewolf shrugged, still smirking unrepentantly, and led the way to the edge of the Forest – at which point Harry finally noticed their tag-along.

"Um – Remus?" He stopped and turned, catching Harry's bemused tone.

"What – oh." He laughed, sending a few lingering birds into flight at the abrupt sound.

"You've got a follower, huh?" He strode toward him and crouched, holding a hand out to the fox. The small animal sniffed at him, but didn't remove itself from Harry's side, clearly not trusting the werewolf. Harry glanced down at them.

"Think it'll follow me all the way to Hogwarts?" Remus hummed lowly.

"Maybe." He looked up.

"You could ask." The werewolf met the teen's dry green gaze unwaveringly; Harry sighed and dropped into a crouch as well, offering his hand to the fox. Immediately he received a headbutt and another affectionate chirp.

He stared. He couldn't even fathom how he was supposed to 'ask' the canid its intentions – this wasn't a snake, and he couldn't just verbally ask and assume it would understand. The fox stared up at him almost expectantly, and finally he just asked.

"Are you planning on sticking around? I don't know how the Headmaster will feel about me having a fox following me around." He started when he received a wash of images – Hogwarts, himself, the Forest, Hogwarts again-

"So...yes, you're staying?" He received some bright, positive feeling and took it as an affirmative. Sighing, he moved to scoop the fox up, ignoring the yip of surprise and verifying that it was actually a she.

"It's rather large for a fox," commented the werewolf, again leading the teen out of the Forest.

"She is?" Harry looked at the furred animal and then at Remus. The tall man nodded.

"Foxes are usually about a quarter smaller than her, full-grown." Without thinking, Harry hefted the fox into the air to hold her in front of him, ignoring her immediate squirm and snarl of objection.

"Huh. Sorry," he offered sheepishly to the miffed fox, who sniffed and looked away. Smiling, he set her down and followed Remus out of the Forest, just in time to see the form he had no doubt was Draco plummet from the impossibly high platform. He inhaled sharply, eyes growing bright with awe and fear; his blood pounded in his ears, and only the timely nip from the fox at his feet reminded him to breathe. Dropping to his knees, he gathered the small animal into his arms, eyes wide.

"He's mad..." he whispered, squeezing the fox close, ignoring the disgruntled grumble he received. A flash of images and a sense of slight fear filled his mind; grasping talons and bloodied feathers.

"Shh – it's okay." The fox disagreed. He turned his eyes back to the Quidditch Field, wondering absently how Draco had fared, but sensing he was fine.

* * *

><p>He shuddered; he could feel the drag of air, the warm thermals and could hear the near-howl of rushing air in his ears. The predatory blood-lust he'd felt seconds earlier had drained away, and all that remained was the exhilarating emptiness, the absence of pain, of fear, the absence of sensation. He was blissfully numb, and yet the caress of the wind was sharp against his skin.<p>

Falling – drifting – landing. None of the abruptness of an unskilled landing, but some sort of easy, natural progression from air to earth. Pale feathers shuddered and retreated beneath his skin; he stared as they slid under his flesh like a blade into its sheath. Rubbing his now featherless arm, he watched the trio of adults hurry to his side. He was content. Nothing could – excuse the pun – ruffle his feathers at this point; he was at ease, basking in the fading exhilaration of flight, the soft song swimming through his mind.

"Spectacular – simply wonderful!" The Headmaster's smile was too wide, too bright; a vague mask stretched too thin over a weary old man's true face. Both Severus and Pomfrey had expressions of stunned awe, tempered with concern. He assured them of his well being, but already his attention was being drawn away to the trio coming toward them at surprising speeds.

"Malfoy! You're okay?" Joy burst in his mind, making him dizzy; the spirit crooned winningly at the wide-eyed Gryffindor, seeking to set him at ease.

:I'm fine, Har – Potter.: Green eyes flickered with mischief – he noticed the stutter, found something amusing about it. Draco scowled at him and received a small smirk. Something growled and barked below them; all eyes turned to the large fox seated at the Gryffindor's feet, gazing back at them haughtily. The Headmaster raised an eyebrow and looked to Harry, who shrugged.

"She followed me from the Forest – says she plans on sticking around." Remus cleared his throat at the mutinous expressions on Pomfrey and Severus's faces, smiling apologetically.

"We can likely pass her off as his familiar, but given his condition, I believe she is probably a guardian spirit." Recognition and understanding dawned in the adults' eyes; Draco eyed Harry sharply, hoping to glean some understanding of what was going on. The other teen shrugged again. The fox circled him and glared at Draco, apparently set in her immediate dislike of him. He eyed her warily, suddenly on edge.

"Well! It has been an eventful evening. I believe we should head back now. The fox may accompany us, given, Mr. Potter, that you are prepared to take care of her and keep her from endangering the other students' companions." Twinkling, the Headmaster swept away, leaving the remaining five to slowly return to the castle in silence.

Well, audible silence.

:Your fox is glaring at me, Potter.: Harry snorted, drawing looks from the adults, but not replying aloud.

:Maybe she senses you're an undeniable prat.: He smirked at the scowl he received.

:Just a thought.:

:I don't like you,: the Slytherin declared, scowling at him and the fox trotting after him. The Gryffindor rolled his eyes.

:This isn't new news, Malfoy.: Neither questioned the innate ease of mental discussion, but Draco did wonder at the solidity of the link – nothing like that of Blaise or Pansy or even Severus, whose link was stunted with his own discomfort with unsolicited mental connections of any sort. It concerned him some, though, this inner spirit's bizarre delight in Potter's company. It was always pushing, pushing, trying to make him into something he couldn't even begin to fathom, trying to force him into a bond with Potter he didn't want, and damn it if it wasn't getting old, this weird chime he 'heard' every time Potter entered the room.

The fox trotted around the two of them, bouncing here and there and occasionally nipping at their heels. She was fascinated; this bright, airy creature was very much attached to her new charge. So young in their power...Sniffing, she bounded ahead of them and pounced on a thin stick, growling and gnawing at one end. A laugh bubbled free of her charge behind her; she picked up the stick and trotted back to him, pleased that she'd brought him some ease. Dropping the stick in front of him, she twined around his ankles and barked up at the bright/sharp/high being above her. Pale eyes narrowed at her; she repeated the challenge and bounced across his feet.

Draco eyed the strange little animal, then Potter, who shrugged.

:Does she have a name?: The other teen blinked and shook his head.

"No – I didn't ask either. I think she wants to play," he offered, gesturing to the fox darting around the blonde's feet. A flash of images sparkled through his mind; Potter, Hogwarts, their surroundings rushing around them, rushing _past _them, as if they were running, or flying, or-

:Stop!: And they all froze, the sheer force of his mental alarm hitting them with a nearly unintelligible stream of fear/anger/discomfort, and then he slammed up barriers, horrified that he'd shattered their mental privacy, albeit accidentally. The fox, muscles frozen, stared at him almost reproachfully. The spirit hissed in the back of his mind, its disdain at his guilt thundering in the back of his mind.

He needed sleep.

* * *

><p>Harry perched on the stool, fascinated. The sun had just risen, and with them came Malfoy's feathers, seeming longer than the night before, as if they were trying to form some sort of blanket or shroud against the sun. Beside him, the fox eyed the sleeping teen lazily, yawning even as he shifted, his arms still flung over his eyes.<p>

"So, now what?" He twisted to look over his shoulder at Remus and Snape, both of whom seemed to be in the midst of disagreeing over something probably regarding the teens in front of them. Snape scowled at him, while Remus responded, "I think we need to find a way to contact the faery community about this. Severus disagrees on the principle that Albus won't agree. I honestly am not sure it's safe to have the both of you untrained. You and I talked about this – your powers are developing steadily, and no one in the wizarding community knows what will occur for either of you." Harry twisted a lock of hair around his finger, looking between his professors and then to the fox curled up beside Malfoy.

"It is a moot point at the moment," grumbled the Potions Master, clearly irritated with Remus's point. "We haven't even begun to pinpoint most of Draco's symptoms, because he refuses to talk to us. I had hoped he would at least say something to Zabini, or even you, Potter," he finished, scowl deepening. The fox looked up and growled at him; Remus repeated his original reprimand and barked once at the canid. She yipped and seemed to offer a vixen version of a scowl, before burrowing into Malfoy's pillow. Harry had to smother the urge to laugh at Snape's dumbstruck expression. Sobering, he tugged on the lock of hair and asked, "Do either of you know what happened to Jaqueline Fields?" Both men shared a look of surprise. He shrugged.

"Maybe she's not the best person to ask, but she's better than no one, right?" Remus shifted almost nervously from one foot to another.

"I don't know...I think Lily mentioned she moved to France," he said slowly. "If anyone would know, it would be Sirius..." He shrugged now.

"I can look into it." Moving away, he offered a strange almost yip to the fox, who replied with a muffled chirp, swishing her bushy tail across Malfoy's forehead and causing him to squirm away from the sensation in his sleep. Snape glared after him and received a mocking wave in recognition of his irritation. Harry again struggled to smother his mirth.

* * *

><p>Lights swept across his eyes, fanciful silhouettes of butterflies and birds dipping across the inside of his eyelids. He saw no purpose in opening his eyes; the sun would be sinking in the sky, and the bright voice in his head would sing of sleep until he succumbed again. But still he pushed his eyelids up, letting his gaze sweep over the red-orange painted room, the final dying sprays of sunlight muted amidst the gathering shadows.<p>

"Evening, Malfoy." Sighing, he let his eyes drop back closed, feeling the sweep of fur against his jaw and the dip of the mattress as the fox leapt up beside him.

:Good evening, Potter.: He could almost hear the other's smirk as he said, "Zabini's here – no Parkinson this time, you're safe to say you aren't in pain." The fox remained, the Gryffindor did not. Irritated now by the lack of a solid mental presence, he shifted his focus to the fleeting mental bond of Blaise.

:Well?: The stool creaked loudly when the other slumped onto it, his bag thumping onto the floor. The fox growled and burrowed into Draco's pillow.

"Have you told him?" _Of course not, it's been barely two days, _he hissed in his mind, letting his own muted mental voice reply instead, :I haven't had the opportunity. Too busy jumping off raised platforms and baiting Potter.: The bushy tail thwaped his cheek; he opened his eyes and stopped resisting the urge to hiss, sending the fox tumbling from the bed and Blaise back a few inches in surprise at the sound. From somewhere further in the Wing, Potter yelled at him to stop trying to resemble a cat.

:Swans hiss too, you sorry excuse for an intelligent human being!: The brunette popped up beside him, thumping him on the shoulder with a spare pillow.

"Someone's time of the month is coming up," he snarked, ignoring the way Blaise's skin began to turn a faint green of disgust. Draco scowled up at the Gryffindor, his mind firing off a hundred different retorts – and he stopped. All his attention turned to the other teen, blocking out Blaise and the fox and even the brilliant voice humming lowly in the back of his mind. He looked so _pale_ – how had he overlooked the smudges under his eyes, the weird dimness in him?

:Are you okay?: Potter started, then returned his scowl.

:I am _fine_, Malfoy. Zabini looks like he's about to have an apoplexy. Talk to _him_.: The fox yipped and whimpered, and as if this was his cue, Potter scooped her up and began to pad away.

:Does she have a name yet?: _What the hell kind of question is that, Draco? _It served its purpose, inane or not. Potter paused and looked down at the fox.

"...Dahlia. Her name's Dahlia." The fox chirped in agreement, and he moved away. Shifting in the bed, Draco tilted his head to one side to see Blaise eyeing him with unspoken questions.

:_What, _Blaise?: The Italian wizard bit his lip, and said softly, "You and Potter are awfully chummy now, hmm?" Draco snorted, almost surprising himself with the noise.

:I would hardly call us 'chummy', as you put it. We have to put up with one another. I am practically a personal study in Healing for him – he is, with Pomfrey, my primary caretaker, loathe though I am to admit that. And above all, the Headmaster is meddling to push us together for some utterly unfathomable reason that only the batty old man even knows.: Blaise's expression spoke to his scepticism; Draco didn't give a damn if he didn't believe him, he wanted to get out of this bed already. Pushing the covers off, he asked, :Did you bring me clothes?: Blaise moved back, nodding. He pushed a bag forward with his foot; lazily, Draco searched for the handle and used his own feet to toss it up to where he could catch it and drop it on the bed.

"Stop over-exerting yourself, Malfoy."

:Eat me, Potter.:

"You wish, sweetie." Ignoring the burning look he was receiving from Blaise, he rifled through the bag and pulled on the first shirt he found, stretching some.

:Homework?:

"Potter put it over there." He nodded to a table across from them; Draco noted the piles of books and parchment.

:How's he been?:

"How has _who _been?"

:Potter, dummy.:

"Why would you-"

:He looks tired. I don't want him fumbling a spell and amputating a limb I'll need later,: he snapped, cutting his fellow Slytherin off. Before Blaise could reply or retort, Pomfrey swept from her office with a cheery, "Good evening, Mr. Malfoy. Tonight, you have full run of the castle and the Quidditch Field, if Professor Lupin accompanies you. Do try to finish some of your work tonight; Harry will deliver it to your professors in the morning. If you seem well enough, I'll allow you to move back into the Slytherin dorms tomorrow evening." Draco blinked and allowed a small smile; Pomfrey returned it and moved on to speak to Harry, helping one of the Creevey brothers in a bed further down.

:_Finally_.: Blaise raised an eyebrow at that, and nodded to the pile of books.

"Want me to bring the others down here? We'll catch you up if you want." Draco raked his fingers through his hair, scowled at the unusual action, and smoothed his hair down again, replying, :If you want. After dinner?:

"We'll be here." Massaging his shoulders, Draco nodded and again smiled at his friend, the expression genuine. Blaise felt his own irritation at the other teen subside and returned the expression.

"Well. Don't wear yourself out. We'll see you soon."

* * *

><p>There wasn't as much to worry about as Draco had thought; with Granger's copious notes and the assistance of his House mates, he was essentially caught up with what work was immediately necessary. Set aside and tucked into a folder for Potter to pick up in the morning, it was soon apparent to Draco that he needed to go outside, and soon. He was going mad, the voice wouldn't stop humming and sending snippets of the sensation of flying, and his arms were itching, as if the feathers had a mind of their own. Rubbing them absently, he eyed the rest of the wing; a few Hufflepuffs, a Ravenclaw, at least five Gryffindors, all situated away from his bed, presumably for privacy's sake. Sighing, he rose and padded to the door, pausing outside Pomfrey's office, wondering if he should tell her where he was going-<p>

"Remus is already at the Quidditch Field, dear. He suggested you might need the exercise after being in bed for so long." He almost jumped, then mentally kicked himself for the reaction, sending a wordless response of understanding before darting out of the wing.

He needed to fly.

* * *

><p>AN: SLOW. What crap is this? Well, dear reader, it's chapter five of DG, and it is slow. As. CRAP. .. I WILL PREVAIL. And sooner as opposed to later, conflict will come up. Eheh. XDX Argh. R&R?


	6. Song of Epitaph

Cool air swirled around him as he ran onto the field, twisting to stare up at the pink smeared sky. The sunset was spectacular, he'd be the first to admit – but he bet it looked even better from higher up.

His skin was tingling with his anticipation; even as he slowed to a walk, every step ramped up his excitement level. The outlines of the sheathed feathers pressed up against his skin. His eyes burned. He had a feeling that they'd turned to the orange-ringed black Pomfrey had described to him. Pausing, he let his head fall back and inhaled deeply – the air smelled heavily of the very anticipation he felt. The bright spirit's song was darker than usual.

Aggressive, possessive, driven. Letting his eyes fall closed, he rolled his shoulders and exhaled, the feathers sliding free of his skin with impossible ease. No blood – they merely pierced the thinnest layer of flesh between them and air, the slits superficial and not deep enough to incite bleeding. He stretched and began to move again – away from the field, toward the Forest, where he could hear the weird rushing of wings against one another as a thousand birds and bats shot into the sky, sensing a greater predator approaching.

He didn't hear so much as sense the werewolf's approach; even as they fell into step, neither spoke. At first, he wondered why the werewolf didn't insist he return to the field; then he wondered if he could feel it too, the undercurrent in the air, electric and sharp.

Fear. He stopped, scuffing a foot across the mossy root nearest him. The edge of the Forest sparkled to his sharpened eyesight; he could see some sort of strange rippling – the very movement of the air. The werewolf bumped his shoulder; he twisted to meet his eyes, confused.

"Go on." He pushed him forward.

"You need to get used to him." He raised a thin eyebrow; him?

_The spirit. _He blinked, exhaled, and turned his attention inward. Indeed, there it – he – was, singing and crying of the exaltation of the hunt, the intense freedom of flight. He met his companion's tawny gaze and felt a smile tilt his lips up; again the man nodded toward the Forest, and now he stepped forward, into the musky darkness, and began to search for the best tree.

* * *

><p>Remus watched the Slytherin teen pad into the nearest clearing, black eyes darting from tree to tree. He finally located one he deemed acceptable and ran at it; with impossible agility, he ran up the two trunks growing so close as to almost be one form, feathers brushing his knuckles as he curled his fingers around a branch and levered himself up, disappearing into the branches and leaves above. The werewolf wasn't concerned that he could no longer see him; he could still hear and smell him, and knew he was moving higher and higher, moving from tree to tree, until he found whatever he needed to be able to take the plunge and jump. He tracked him from below; now and then a bat would careen past him, chittering fearfully. Once, he caught the scent of the resident herd of centaurs – a moment of concern caught him in his tracks, but the herd continued on, ignoring the strangers to the forest in an uncharacteristic show of ease, and he again turned his attention to the creaking above him.<p>

Most of the noise Draco was making was from him leaping from branch to branch, the force of his landing the only weight enough to make any sound at all; most of the time he was nearly silent, even to Remus. Used to hunting birds that made sound with their wings, the wolf was uneasy; his human counterpart felt only some of his discomfort, but was better suited to the unusual task of following the teen.

He could hear the moment Draco found whatever he'd been looking for; the wind shifted, the trees seemed to groan and cower, and then birds and bats, both nocturnal and otherwise, erupted into the sky. Remus called on his own unnatural stamina and speed to sprint from the Forest to the nearest edge, in time to see Draco twist and glide several yards over the Lake, drifting lower and lower until his feet actually skimmed the dark surface and he finally touched the ground. Something chittered in his ear; startled, he twisted to see Dahlia perched awkwardly on a fallen tree, eyeing the crouching teen.

"What is it with you? Aren't you supposed to be with Harry?" He paused, skin prickling.

"...Dahlia?" The wind shifted again, and he was almost certain he could taste the malice. Draco's head snapped up, and he rose abruptly, attention locked on Hogwarts. The wolf twisted and howled; he could sense a similar unease in Draco's spirit, and felt Dahlia's strange fear. The fox whined, and then howled, the sound strange coming from her small, rusty form. In an instant, she darted from the tree into the darkness; only that motion warned him of Draco's impending flight, and spurred him to the teen's side.

"Stop – Draco, breathe. Talk to me. What's wrong?" His eyes were blazing; the ring of red-orange was rippling around his pupil, pulsing and almost overshadowing the black of both the iris and the pupil. The teen's expression was half pained, half scared – he had no more idea as to what was wrong than the werewolf.

Then it stopped; the wind that had picked up without them realising died. Dahlia's howl seemed to dissolve in the air, and no sound could be heard from her again. The wolf settled. Draco's spirit fell silent for the first time since he'd awakened. Both wizards exhaled uneasily, sharing a glance.

:What happened? Why was Dahlia out here?: Remus shook his head.

"I don't know."

* * *

><p>The excitement of the night didn't extend into Hogwarts; whatever had sent Dahlia into a frenzy must have been outside, or so Lupin concluded. Neither bothered mentioning it to Pomfrey, who decided Draco was well enough to move back into the Slytherin dorms that night as opposed to the following. Draco briefly considered asking if he could go to class in the morning, before remembering belatedly that he was now nocturnal. He wondered if he could force himself to adhere to human patterns. Following the werewolf to the dungeons, he mulled. He'd become utterly intoxicated with the transition from human to – whatever he was now. Scowling, he turned his attention to the strangely quiet spirit within. It had been teasing him, twisting him, pushing and pulling, and being a general pain in the arse, forcing him to change when he wasn't even sure what he <em>was<em>. He paced; he wandered; he searched. His ire grew with every passing moment, and nothing set him at ease as he stalked the silent halls.

Eventually he found himself in a lesser wing of the library, fairly new in comparison to the rest of the castle. One of the ghosts – Mathilda Ambermurk, an old Librarian of years past – was still tending it, absently sending books here and there. A chance glance and murmured greeting told him he was welcome here, so long as he didn't disrupt anything. Weaving through the scant stacks, he settled into a dusty window seat, a few books scattered around him.

This particular part of the wing was separated by a pair of heavily scarred wooden doors. Scorch marks and scrapes littered the inner side; even the heavy wooden furniture, scarce though it was, looked as if it had gone through a war. A few books, all bound in dragonskin, were piled in a corner, atop the lone table. Mathilda, having drifted after him, cleared her throat and said, "This was once a practice area. You may utilize it, if you'd like. It is charmed as to prevent sound from disrupting those within the wing, with a few safety alarms here and there set to go off if you require assistance." She showed him how to operate these, by activating either a ruby set into a swooping dragon statue's talons, or by sending a Patronus.

"It was meant to be used by the seventh years, but it had fallen into disrepair of late." She frowned, nodded, and turned to the door.

"Well, call if you need something; these charms do not defy telepathy." He watched her go, fingers slowly tracing the grain of the wand he hadn't used for so many days. Sitting, he held it out before him. He didn't know how his magic worked now, if it did at all; though Pomfrey had assured him the magical stunting inherent to the Swan Song Syndrome no longer applied to him, he was nevertheless acutely aware of the chance that he'd been weakened, somehow. Eyeing the pile of books in front of him, he carefully focused on the smallest of them and thought as firmly as he could, :Wingardium Leviosa.:

The book shot from the table into the air, slamming into the high ceiling and sending a rain of plaster and stone down on the startled wizard. Scrabbling away from it, he gaped as the book remained stubbornly airborne. The spirit stirred and whispered.

_We are powerful. _He swallowed, skin prickling, sparks of power still rippling through him. He hadn't put that much will into the spell; it shouldn't have been that powerful. Bracing himself, he began to go through every spell he had ever learned, feeling the impossible welling of power with each casting, being stunned with every extraordinarily powerful result. The spirit's whispers turned to purrs, then to croons. It was pleased with his willingness to embrace this, at least, without fighting it. Wonder bubbled up within him.

_We are powerful. _Yes. They were.

* * *

><p>Severus found him curled up in a plush armchair in the wing the next morning, unconscious; piles of spell books surrounded him, open to some of the most advanced, notes hastily scrawled in the margins of a few discarded pieces of parchment that were probably decades old. Around him, odd birds that glowed from within circled him, the light glancing off crystal feathers and gemstone beaks. One landed on the Potions Master's shoulder; he was startled that, in defiance to its crystalline form, the feathers were soft.<p>

:Made them by accident.: The teen's mental voice was sharper than his bleary expression would have led one to expect. Carefully depositing the small bird onto a bookshelf, he replied, "One might expect such a thing, when one is casting spells while exhausted." He received a sheepish smile in reply. Rolling his eyes, he turned to Mathilda, who floated over his shoulder.

"May he remain here for the day? His nocturnal behaviours might not be permanent, but for now I want to cause no more damage than he's already endured." The ghost shrugged.

"A bed in the practice room is nothing to worry about. He will be safe and undisturbed here. No one has come so far into the library for years." Severus blinked, mildly surprised, then nodded.

"Very well. Draco?"

:Mm?:

"Remove yourself to the bed in the practice room. I will return tonight with your work for the day."

:What happened to Potter?: The teen stretched and unfolded his long form from the chair, wincing some as cramped muscles protested to the motion. His Head of House raised an eyebrow at the inquiry.

"What of him?"

:I thought that was his job.: Draco shrugged, padding back into the practice room. Severus followed him, hesitant as to what to say. He wasn't sure how Draco felt about Potter now; certainly the magnitude and frequency of his rants regarding the Gryffindor had sharply decreased with his injury and subsequent transformation, but how much of that was due to other, more important events in the teen's life?

"Potter is ill," he began quietly, watching his godson freeze in his tracks, posture stiffening.

"Perhaps it is lack of sleep or too many duties, but the Headmaster wants him to be more cognizant of his health. He may be working less with you and Pomfrey in the coming weeks." He knew Draco could hear his scepticism; he had few doubts as to what conclusions he'd probably come to regarding it.

:...What exactly is this condition you keep referring to? Does he suffer from his own disease?: The teen didn't turn as he asked, rifling through the notes he'd tossed haphazardly across the table the night before.

"It's not for me to say." Severus was honestly uncertain as to why he was even indulging in this conversation; it wasn't something Draco needed to know about, but with the way he'd been acting toward Potter of late...

:Then why hint at it? Severus-: He stopped whatever he'd meant to say, stopped all motion, head cocked to one side. Perhaps he was listening for something; maybe he was hearing something. But whatever it was, he shook his head abruptly and slid into the newly conjured bed, peeling off his shirt quickly before the feathers began to emerge, fanning out sharply, then sliding flat again, reforming sleekly around the curve of each muscle. He seemed to be sliding out of consciousness. It was eerie, his sudden drag of energy.

Yet, in spite of his obvious fall from the world of the conscious, something powerful and bright was building. A fade of brilliance across pale skin, eyes fluttered shut, and a blast of cold wind across the room as impossibly long feathers formed a heavy curtain across the unconscious teen's face, fanning out from his arms, splayed lazily across his face. The autonomous spirit sent another wash of icy wind and a silken explosion of light through the air, rising above the sleeping Slytherin and hanging in the air, narrowed golden eyes blazing with a light of their own. Startled, the Potions Master took a step back, hovering between the door and the bed. Something buzzed in his ears – not a warning so much as an insistent push; the spirit wanted him to leave, undoubtedly. He complied silently, closing the door behind him and leaning against it heavily, skin prickling uneasily. Behind him, the birds loosed cries in harmony with one another as they crumbled to dust, one after the other.

* * *

><p>Ron tuned out Hermione's scolding regarding his and Harry's lack of initiative regarding homework, focused instead on his best friend's sorry state. He knew Hermione noticed; she kept throwing concerned glances at him from beneath her lashes, then looking at Ron as if hoping he knew what was wrong. Every time he could only shake his head subtly and continue trying to coax his friend into conversation, usually only receiving monosyllabic responses and the occasional head shake. Dahlia was nowhere to be found, and now Professor McGonagall was eyeing them with muted concern as well from the head of the study hall.<p>

"Hey, Harry?" The raven's head dipped lower, and Ron felt a spiny tendril of concern creep down the back of his neck.

"Harry?" He gently nudged his shoulder; no response. Hermione, biting her lip, leaned across the table and hesitantly touched his shoulder. As if knocked out of stasis, he slumped hard, head cracking against the table impossibly loudly. A buzz of alarm shot down the table, and McGongall's hasty approach sparked a cacophony of questions yelled through the hall. A shiver washed across the entire student body as the unconscious Gryffindor was carried haphazardly from the room, and a moment of heavy silence cut through their alarm-

And then the screaming began.

* * *

><p>Every feather stood rigid, and his skin seemed to be pulled too tight over his muscles. Gasping, he flailed and fell from the chair he'd migrated to sometime in his sleep, feathers retreating beneath his skin rapidly as the scream crescendoed.<p>

_Rise! _He wasn't sure if the spirit was panicking or simply demanding he _get up_ because the screaming was getting louder, and sirens were howling throughout the school and his feathers were pressing up from under his skin as if he was trying to puff himself up like an irate cat. Hissing foully, the Slytherin surged to his feet and broke into a run, ignoring Mathilda's startled cry and the desperate cries from the spirit careening back and forth across his mind.

He almost slammed into Lupin; the werewolf steadied him instantly, eyes dilated and jaw tight.

:What's happening?: He shook his head.

"We don't know-" A loud, whining bark cut him off, and Dahlia skidded across the stone, winding around Draco's ankles and whining as loudly as she could, fur standing on end. The spirit's cries took on a similarly wheedling note; he shoved it back and picked up the shaking fox, startled for a moment by how heavy she was.

:Dahlia, what's wrong?: Red cloth hooked a black branches, gaping mouths filled with rows and rows of teeth, red veils against shimmering snow.

:Dahlia, focus!: Despite this, the onslaught of images continued; a gnarled hand, more teeth, more red against black, grey, and white, and a single procession of red-swathed figures through the Forbidden Forest. His skin burned at the image, and the spirit's song took on a furious quality. Shuddering, he released the fox and met Lupin's rapidly lightening eyes, feeling his breath coming faster, hitching some with every exhale.

:Where is Dumbledore?: Lupin turned and led them from the wing, not bothering to slow himself to a human speed; students scattered in alarm as they passed, the air reeking of terror.

"Harry collapsed, and the screaming started; the Headmaster should be with him." Dahlia made a bizarre croaking noise, and two new images rippled across his mind's eye; Granger and Weasley, an overtone of questioning.

:Dahlia wonders about Granger and Weasley.:

"I have no idea. Here," he pushed the door open and propelled him inside, "they're inside. I'll find Ron and Hermione-" Dahlia suddenly yelped and whirled, fur on end again. The spirit screamed, the sound erupting against his will from his own mouth. He spasmed and fell to his knees, ears ringing with a new song, unlike any other he'd ever heard. Beneath it, he could hear panicked spells to block the sound ringing out across the Hospital Wing and throughout the hall. With a weak gasp, he pushed to his feet and turned in time to watch the windows explode, glass disintegrating as the song grew all the louder.

"Draco!" He ignored whoever was calling him, teeth splitting his lip and letting a trickle of blood streak them.

Their breathing was harsh and loud in his ears, melding with the low, dark song. A scent – water and ashes – carried on a empyrean wind.

_Harbingers. Death's chorus. Cold-tongues._

"Lofty hunter of silvered skies, cease thy bitter cry. The blood of another on your hands can yet be purged." Bile rose in his throat; the sirens were being drowned out by the singing, and yet, beneath it all, their voices could be heard, their words toneless and soft.

The doors whispered open, a flutter of sheer red flickering at the edge of his vision. Now they entered, as one, their song never hitching even as they spoke, the dual toned sounds offsetting one another.

"We sing for him, and your hope fades as we do. He passes swiftly behind the veil. You can save him, silver one, if you find your voice." Panic bubbled up in his chest; he couldn't speak yet – hell, he wasn't even entirely sure he could voice any sound beyond what the spirit within forced out of him.

"Your song is his salvation, and his withering magic yours. The yearning skies cannot deny us without the mighty earth. It is still early, and your song is deadened by fear, but there is time enough." One red-garbed woman stepped forward, one hand stretched forth entreatingly. His stomach roiled, and the feathers under his skin dug at him, but didn't come free. His back ached; his shoulders were burning with a weight he couldn't quite recognise.

"Come forth, silver one, and let your song fill him. He cannot hear us from beneath the waves of the black river, but he will hear you." Cold, deadwood hands cupped his jaw and lifted his face; he met the empty eye sockets sewed shut with red silk thread and twitched away, but her fingers dug hard into his skin and held him still.

"Perhaps we were wrong?" This crooning voice was different from the others, deeper and heavy with age. The wall of red parted, and a new being glided forward, head bowed. The woman released him and melted back into her sisters' ranks; the newcomer, in white, purred, "Is your song too weak, boy? Is your great power dead?"

Rage fizzled beneath his skin, and the pain in his back intensified. He shook his head and hissed lowly, light erupting before his eyes as the golden bird, paled now to silver, unfurled from him and rose overhead, its cry mirroring his anger.

_We are powerful – no weakness touches us! _The woman's laugh was the same dual-toned sound as the song still winding through his ears.

"Then prove it, great one! Prove that the gifts of song were not wasted, that you are indeed worthy of the Maiden's kiss, the Mother's embrace, and the Crone's deepest wisdom!" The scarlet song went dead as the white began, the strength of the sound stunning. It hit him like a punch to the chest; only his pride kept him from falling to his knees, even as the clear, pure sound mixed with a low keening lyric, unfathomable to his ears but clear to his mind.

"_Wither, young love, beneath ancient stone _

_And ageless skies._

_None hear your cry as night embraces you,_

_So dry your tears and kiss death goodnight._

_We wait by the river, your cloak in hand._

_'Ere moonrise you've passed,_

_The river your body's only embrace._

_No lover awaits you,_

_No kiss to cold skin,_

_You are alone, returned now to deathless earth's womb,_

_Mother forgive us for waiting so long._

_Open your eyes, young love, and see through the silver mirror's eyes,_

_He waits on the banks of our dark river, _

_Cries your name to faceless gods._

_You are lost to him now._

_Let death hold you evermore."_

His eyes found the too small form of the trembling Gryffindor, tears streaming down his pale skin and kissing them with a weird silvery sheen. His chest seized, and the cries of both the banshee queen and the spirit swan melded in his mind.

His feet moved him without his permission; he watched the Gryffindor whimper and convulse as he drew nearer, curling in on himself, the skin of his bare back seeming to crack. The scent of smoke filled his nostrils. He sank to his knees and clutched the edge of the bed, pressing his forehead to the shaking Gryffindor's shoulder.

:Dammit Potter – _Harry. _Come on, wake up – wake up!: The song intensified, crescendoed; he ignored it, lifting his head and curling his fingers around Harry's wrist, chest heaving as he fought to breath through the smoke that wasn't there.

:Harry-: Images over his mind's eye, too fast and blurred with delirium; he pressed his mind closer to the dying teen's. Black and white tendrils of smoke and water surged through his mind, swamping him and drowning him. He struggled against them, searching furiously for the core of it all. Cold hands brushed across his back and face, and the scarlet song picked up again, a maelstrom brewing beneath the deceptive calm of the white. Shivering, he exhaled and sank completely into the other's mind, thrusting past the water and smoke and curling around the dimming core.

* * *

><p>Light. It exploded through him, ripped through the smoke and blasted away the dark waters, a hazy song struggling to push back the other two songs, pulling him deeper into the black water.<p>

:Dammit Potter!: The sound bashed through all the songs, forcing him to surface abruptly, floundering as the light retreated sharply, as if surprised by his returning strength. A silver seed burst into flames, and the light rushed forward again, engulfing him, embracing him, leading him back up from the darkness and heat-

It was a clap of thunder, the final sound that drove all the songs out, and silence wafted over them as he forced his eyes open. Black was slowly retreating before silver, and the tiniest of smiles met his awakening.

_Awakened. Descent denied. Begone, cold-tongue. _A light, trilling laugh; his eyes snapped to the women trailing from the room, heads bowed and veiled in red, save one – the laugher.

"So he is. Welcome back to the land of the living, darling." The voice was familiar to something in him, something alien to him, yet utterly a part of his self.

"Amhránaíocht ar na Banríona Bás." Malfoy started and stared at him; he ignored him, eyes locked on the white robed woman. She bowed, a sweeping motion that caused the weird fabric clinging to her body to whisper and sigh.

"Until your time is up, then," she murmured lowly, gliding from the wing in silence. Swallowing, he let his attention come back to the blonde, who pushed himself up and onto the bed, gently pulling Harry into an upright position.

:Are you okay?: He opened him mouth to crack a joke about being on the edge of death and coming back unscathed, only to double over sharply in pain, his back erupting in dry fire, white light flickering across his eyes before everything went black.

* * *

><p>AN: Well hi there. This is enough action to make up for that crap I passed for a chapter last time, right? XD

So, quick translation:

Amhránaíocht ar na Banríona Bás; Death's Singing Queen (according to Google Translate) in Irish. Such a gorgeous language.

I wrote that little song/poem, just like in Depthless. I honestly have no tune for it, unlike the one in Depthless. Soooo...that's that! We'll find out what happened to Harry, how Draco's intervention might have unexpected results (for them, anyway), and maybe what Voldie's been up to! No promises, though.

R&R~! Roc out.

P.S. Page breaks might not be working. I've been trying to fix it, but it could just be ffnet being mean. XD


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